Type
by Tygger3389
Summary: It's always been clear to anyone who know's Spike's history with relationships, he has a very specific type... and Buffy, well, she's just not it. One shot. Spike X Dawn! Kind of fluffy at the end.


_**Hey Darlings, obviously I'm really into Buffy the Vampire Slayer right now... well, maybe because I watched all 7 season over the course of 2 months. *cough* I have not life *cough* Anyways this is just something quick I whipped up at midnight while suffering from a 100 degree fever, so please tell me if it doesn't make sence. 3 Thanks Darlings! ~ Tygger  
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><p>Poetry was never Spike's strong point, as hard as he tried; it had just never come as easily to him as other forms of writing. Short stories had become a hobby over the years, just quick tales to pass the time. Once he'd collaborated with a young woman he was courting, telling her the story of his life before being a vampire. Of course he'd told her the tale was about his mother rather than his wife, since the story was mostly in Elisabeth's point of view. His mother. He'd left her out of it completely, not that she'd played a big roll, she'd been in London most of the time, tending to his sister, Georgiana. That was before they were married, before Lydia had died, before him and Elisabeth's children were born, before his mother had gotten sick, before he'd gone to stay with her and definitely before Drusilla had found him. Thinking about that night still made him sick, his fawning over Cecily like that. She'd been an obsession, a distraction from missing Elisabeth, but now it was his last memory of mortal life. The last living woman he'd laid eyes on had been a woman he didn't love, a woman who wasn't his wife.<p>

He'd poured it all out, written and written, a whole novel about those first years as a vampire, about his guilt and suffering and eventually, his enjoyment. All written in secret of course, Drue and Angel and Darla, they would have laughed him out of the country. And he never tried to publish it, no one would ever believe that the story ended like it did… well, not ended really. No one would believe it continued. That wasn't, of course, the novel he'd written with Jane. No, that was a different story.

The result of their combined efforts was a novel that sold about twenty million copies world wide and one of the only books he owned. Jane had called it Pride and Prejudice and really, he wasn't sure which he was supposed to be and which was Elisabeth. He wasn't found of the insinuation that either made about his late wife, Elisabeth had been a sweet woman and he'd loved her dearly, but in the past two hundred years or so since her death, and obviously Jane's, he'd learned to let it go. The copy of the novel that Spike held in his hands now was a well loved book with a ratty cover that had been given to Miss Dawn Summers on her thirteenth birthday by her mother. The Nibblet must have read it at least a hundred times, proven by the creased pages, underlined fraises and the odd note scrawled in the margins.

Spike smiled as he thought of his Bit swooning over the romantic saga that was his young life. Of course it wasn't all word for word the way it really was, he'd had to make some changes, but for the most part, it rang true. He had once been a good man, a man of honour and pride, not the dog he was now, sniffing after the sister rather than the girl he actually wanted. It was complicated, back in his day, there would have been nothing wrong with him showing interest in a sixteen year old girl, now a days it made him a pedophile. And Buffy had become an addiction, an obsession, when he was with her, he was just chasing the feeling that only Dawn could give him. Buffy was wrong for him, she didn't love him and he didn't love her. She wasn't even his type. And no one ever seemed to notice that small fact. Spike had a very specific type. He liked fairly tall girls with long brown hair and usually blue eyes. Dawn fit his type with her entrancing eyes and lush hair, Buffy did not. Short, blond Buffy was just a replacement, a reason to hang around the Summers' house, an excuse to be close to _her_.

He could never tell her, his Little Bit, he knew as he watched her sleep, dreaming peacefully. She deserved better than a two hundred or so year old corpse, she deserved a living, breathing man with whom she could go for walks in the afternoon, raise children with and grow old with. She'd never have that with him, just as he'd missed doing with his Lizzie all those years ago. That was a life he'd never have, the life that was torn from him. He'd never taught his older son, William Jr., to ride a pony or shoot a gun. He'd never helped his younger son, Henry, learn to read or write. He'd never heard his baby daughter, Anna, learn to speak or seen her walk. He'd never listen to her play piano and sing in the beautiful voice she'd have gotten from her mother. Never have to break up fights between William and Henry. Never scold his sons for teasing young girls or watch his daughter walk down a church isle. He was sure that all these things had happened, after all, he didn't kill his whole family like Angel or James had. No, just his mother… but that was in the past. The point was, he told himself, he could never have her, his Dawnie, she could never know how he felt. It was doubtful that she felt the same way anyway. He would never tell her… at least not while she was awake.

"I love you," He smiled lightly, leaning down and kissing her forehead. He stiffened up as she stirred in her sleep, rolling to face away from him and sighing, "Sorry, Bit, gotta run."

Dawn woke just seconds after he disappeared out her bedroom window, fading silently into the night. At first she wasn't sure she'd actually heard him, maybe she'd just dreamed the feeling of cool lips on her forehead and maybe the lingering smell of earth and fags was just wishful thinking. But no, something caught the corner of her eye, something dark draped over the back of her chair. Climbing out of bed, she reached out and ran her fingers over the smooth, worn leather of the duster and a name, caressed lovingly by her voice, slipped through her lips, "Spike."


End file.
